


The Proposal

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [57]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Break Up, Coercion, Contracts, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Freedom, Implied Sexual Content, Kimono, Kissing, Light Petting, Rough Kissing, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: [Set before the series begins]  Hisana entertains Captain Aizen.  Byakuya takes tea with his betrothed and Hisana.  Ginrei discusses a new agreement involving the family, Byakuya, and Hisana.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Series: A Thin Red Line [57]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	The Proposal

The silk is as white as new-fallen snow. Its pattern is delicate, almost easy to miss on first glance: Pale orange maple leaves dance along the kimono’s hems and scatter across the fall of the robes as if dragged along on a capricious autumn breeze. 

Romantic knots sweep her hair up, kept secure with two white kanzashi, the beaded streamers of which shine iridescent in the sunlight and chime with every bob of her head. Her cheeks and lips are tinted a rosy golden-pink color, and her skin is smooth and white. 

She looks porcelain, pure, and _bridal_. But, it’s the precise kind of porcelain, pure, and bridal that men in search of debasing, no-strings-attached sex would find immediately _off-putting_. 

In other words, she looks utterly _un_ - _fuckable_.

Hisana hopes this romantic dispassion is clearly communicated when the door draws back to reveal the Captain of Squad Five, Sōsuke Aizen. She takes him in with a fluttery doe-eyed glance. 

Bowing sweetly, Hisana greets Captain Aizen in a melodic trill, “A pleasure to see you again, Captain.” 

But, behind her mask of girlish ingenue, she watches him, her eyes following his every line, his every tread. _Closely_. Closer than her flickering gaze lets on. 

Will he look to the empty space where her bedding should be laid? 

Hisana holds her breath and watches. Waiting. Hoping that her madness is unjustified.

Captain Aizen pauses, head turned to where the bed should be set, his eyes betraying his thoughts. Thoughts she cannot hear, thoughts locked away deep inside his head, but thoughts she knows better than her own blood. 

Hisana’s heart sinks in her chest, and she loosens the breath she holds so tightly clenched. 

“Are you looking for something, Captain?” she asks sweetly when he doesn’t return her greeting. 

Hearing her question, the captain turns and offers her a friendly smile. The late morning sun glitters in his earthen brown eyes. “Apologies, I was admiring the crane fusuma.” He pauses in front of one of the large paintings for a long moment.

“They are lovely,” she agrees, voice bright and airy.

The paintings really aren’t that handsome, she thinks. Both cranes, mirror images of one another, are simply drawn. Their lines reveal almost an amateur hand, and the color has since faded over time, bleached from the sunlight that streams into the room when the exterior doors are open. 

But, she chose this particular room because she hates the fusuma. With no painting to distract her, she must concentrate all her attention on her caller. Given that this man has already rejected her once, she doesn’t want to risk offending him further with poor manners.

Holding back the sleeve of her kimono, Hisana pours tea for the both of them. 

The captain walks the perimeter of the room at a slow pace as if he is taking the area’s measurements. When he finally reaches her, he tilts forward and surveys the items set on the table.

“Shogi?” he asks, brows rising over the rim of his glasses. 

Hisana beams up at him, “Oh, yes, Captain. I heard that you’re a master of the game.”

Lord Byakuya confided this much to her on the night that he had taken it upon himself to teach her how to play. With the seriousness of an academy master, he had labored diligently in this endeavor to little avail. Hisana had proven herself to be a poor pupil, finding far more amusement in flirting shamelessly with him than paying attention to his lessons on the deep psychological underpinnings of certain maneuvers. 

Her efforts at seduction, however, had yielded several damning blushes and two flustered speeches about the importance of the game to fortifying a keen mind. Poor consolation, she thinks, to the cold bed that she had suffered that night. 

Hisana repaid her dear lord’s graciousness by teaching him how to play hanafuda. As the card game is _outlawed_ everywhere except for the outer-most districts, she had to borrow a deck from Tojuro, whose theater hosts an illicit game night for its performers and patrons every Wednesday just before the evening show. 

“Oh, yes, Vice Captain Kuchiki is fond of shogi,” says Captain Aizen, his mild gaze pulling her attention away from fond memories. 

“He is?” She plays false with a vacuous stare and dumb smile, sensing that his singling out of Lord Byakuya is meant as a barb.

“Oh, yes. We have inter-squad matches occasionally. He is very good at it. Always places well,” the captain continues, flipping the hem of his white haori out as he takes a seat in front of her.

“He sounds very accomplished,” Hisana says and presses her lips against the rim of her teacup.

“Vice Captain Kuchiki is very talented. Perhaps a touch rash, but such is to be expected with youth.” Captain Aizen’s fingers curl around his cup, and he remarks, “The vice captain is betrothed now.” He then tilts his cup back, leaving Hisana wondering if his timing is fortuitous or if he’s hiding a wry grin.

“The betrothal is all anyone seems to talk about,” she says and begins setting the pieces on the board. “Is his fiancée lovely?”

“Lady Suiko Heishi is very lovely. I had the pleasure of taking dinner with the happy couple and several other members of the squads a few weeks ago.”

Hisana’s brows rise. “Oh, how was the dinner?” 

What she really wants to know is where _this_ conversation is going.

“Well. They were very affectionate toward one another.”

Hisana forces a charming smile to her lips. “ _Lord Byakuya Kuchiki_?” she says as if scandalized at the suggestion of him being the least bit affectionate toward _anyone_. “I don’t believe it!” she titters. Like an idiot. “Everyone remarks on his aloofness.” She props her chin in her palm, her elbows digging into the tabletop. 

_Do go on._

The captain’s mild expression breaks for a moment, and a small grin tugs a corner of his mouth up. “Unusually affectionate. I believe the surprise was mutually felt at the table when he took her in his arms and kissed her.”

Ah, she has him now. 

Not that his bluff is a bad one. Few could anticipate that the lord’s betrothed keeps his courtesan in her confidence. If Hisana hadn’t been privy to Lady Suiko’s letters, she knows she would have drunk down this particular poison like a fine wine.

Knowing better, Hisana plays false. Her eyes go large, and she dons her best hopeless romantic expression. “Oh, my poor heart,” she gushes, pressing a hand to her breast, “and they say love is dead among the nobility.”

The captain’s grin widens, and he cuts her a knowing glance. “You appear to hold many confidences among the Kuchiki,” he says decidedly and makes his opening play.

“You mean Lord Masao Kuchiki and Lord Yogi?” asks Hisana, eyes turning to the board to plot her turn. “How _did_ the session go?”

Captain Aizen’s attention fixes the piece that she moved, and he responds with a quiet, “It went very well. We received most of our requests with few concessions.”

“Did the Great Archives provision succeed?” Now it’s her turn to prod him.

Captain Aizen sits intensely focused on her pawn. 

By the way his brows gather together and crimp his forehead, Hisana thinks she must’ve made some sort of grievous error in her move. She really wishes she had taken Lord Byakuya’s lessons more seriously. 

“It did not,” he answers.

“We all sort of marveled at the purpose of such provision.” 

“All?”

Hisana blinks, feigning ignorance as to his meaning.

“Who _all_ _marveled_?” asks Captain Aizen, eyes drifting up to her.

Hisana wonders if she’s accidentally struck a nerve. Did the captain’s voice really just harden at her careless phrasing? 

“Lord Yogi and Lord Kuchiki,” she replies, drawing her mask of stupidity closer for cover. “None of us could determine why anyone would want user identities stripped from the Archives.”

“Oh,” he says, “that’s simple: To preserve the integrity and confidentiality of the user’s research.”

Hisana cocks a brow at the whiff of arrogance emanating from his use of the word “ _simple_ ,” as if even _simpletons_ could deduce the purpose of the provision. And, yet, she doesn’t think the calculus of the measure is quite as _simple_ as he would like her to believe.

“Is there a worry that someone may be reviewing the research habits of our very esteemed Shinigami?” she asks.

“Potentially. The data is easy enough to access.”

“I wonder who introduced the measure to begin with.”

“Captain Suì-Fēng of Squad Two,” Captain Aizen answers stiffly, his eyes retreating to the configuration of pieces on the board.

“She’s also the commander-in-chief of the Onmitsukidō, correct?” Hisana _vaguely_ remembers something about the Onmitsukidō and a certain _past_ commander-in-chief, one who Lord Byakuya always ruffles at any time he recounts a memory involving her.

“Yes,” says Captain Aizen, making another move, the light in his eyes dim, as if he is growing _bored_ , and he digresses, “While in service at the Chambers, did you happen to come across Lord Konoe’s engineering project?” 

At the sound of Tadahiro’s surname, Hisana’s breath sticks in the back of her throat. The muscles in her neck jerk, shifting tautly under her skin. 

The captain’s eyes are on her, reading her every line, before fixing on the deep hollow of her throat, where her breath has collected. 

“Yes,” she says, training her voice into a nice even melody, “Lord Masao Kuchiki asked me to review the budget.” Hisana presses a hand to the curve of her shoulder, hoping it will draw the captain’s attention away from her throat.

It doesn’t.

“He mentioned that the proposal arose due to the extensive damage caused by a mass casualty event. Is that right?” she asks.

“That’s true. Almost three months ago, now.” Slowly, the heat of his gaze trails up to meet her eyes. 

The skin of her throat prickles, but Hisana staves off a damning flush.

“My squad’s offices were almost wholly destroyed. We’ve been managing in tents ever since the incident.”

“What happened?”

“Dissidents from Rukongai stormed the gate and launched a spirited attack.”

Hisana blinks. “Really?” Lord Byakuya had never mentioned it. Perhaps Squad Six was spared.

“Yes. Several of them had appeared _corrupted_ ; their souls had contorted into something _unnatural_. It took some effort to drive them back and neutralize them.”

Her brows climb at this. 

“The devastation was immense. Parts of the wall are still in rubble, many of the squads’ headquarters lay in ruin.” The captain tips his teacup back, and he watches her with rapt amusement over the rim. “The dissident’s symbol was a frothing cur with the words ‘Dogs of War.’”

Hisana represses the urge to shudder, feeling pinned by his stare. His knowing stare. Captain Aizen sits like a spider, hidden but hovering close to its prey. Graceful in the waiting, and deadly with want.

Part of her—the sunken instinctual part of her—knows he brings this subject to the surface because of her heritage. _Inuzuri_. 

_Hanging Dog._

The symbol of the frothing cur with the phrase “Dogs of War” is one that _anyone_ who has spent any length of time in Inuzuri would recognize. It’s plastered everywhere. Graffitied to walls. Carved into trees. Posted to doors. It’s the calling card used by one of the gangs there. _One of the deadlier gangs._ The symbol marks their territorial holdings.

Yet, it’s strange, thinks Hisana. The gangs in Inuzuri, while a present and sustained _threat_ to anyone living in the slum, are decidedly small-time in their ambitions, at least when compared to the _monsters_ that prowl the Seireitei. They care about money, hoarding resources, and extracting favors, not class warfare or world domination. Indeed, the gangs prefer the lawlessness and injustice of the city just as it is, knowing all too well that these particular ingredients allow their enterprises to thrive.

It’s a surprise to hear that _any_ of the Inuzuri gangs would take up arms against the Seireitei or Gotei 13, let alone come so close to success. Which, if Hisana’s being honest, breaching the walls of the Seireitei is pretty damn near success for a rag-tag group of miscreants from Inuzuri. 

Her lips purse at this thought. It has been a long while since she wandered the streets of that city. Maybe things have changed. This brings an ache to her heart as she considers her sister and the omnipresent peril she must be in if she’s even still alive.

“They think whatever possessed the dissidents was viral and could be spreading in the Rukon districts,” Captain Aizen adds.

“Do you think this virus is what motivated them to violence against the Seireitei?” asks Hisana, gaze trailing to her shogi pieces in play.

“Uncertain. The corruption that takes over the soul does appear to make it violently aggressive, but there is evidence that they may have been otherwise inclined to their plan.”

Hisana forces a cheerful grin, hoping the false brightness hides the worry that roils her when her thoughts snap to her baby sister trapped there. “Everyone wants to rule the world, I guess,” she remarks with wistful resignation. 

“That they do,” agrees Captain Aizen. 

He quickly adds, “Understandably, we are all eager to return to normal operations.”

Hisana gives a mild nodding glance at the board, eyes tracing the thick black lines in the wood. “Lord Konoe has secured many of the requisite contracts already,” she begins, voice sounding distant and tinny in her head, “and the Chambers approved his budget subject to a diligence review of the contracts. I doubt it will take more than a week or two for the renovation efforts to begin.”

Hisana can barely focus, thoughts diverting to the pestilence apparently ripping through Inuzuri. 

“Have all the contracts been finalized?” asks the captain.

Hisana’s mind unlatches from her concern the moment she hears the insinuation in his voice. 

_Is this why he called upon me?_ she wonders. _To learn more about the Konoe renovation proposal?_

Her brows knit together as she considers what, precisely, the captain is driving at.

“Not all of them,” she says. “The contracts for the construction, engineering, electrical, water, and HVAC have been.”

“What about the ones for the proposed security and monitoring systems?”

Hisana tilts her head back, watching the captain’s fingers push a piece forward on the board. “I don’t know as much about those contracts,” she admits, “Lord Masao Kuchiki handled that aspect of the meeting in greater detail. The new security and monitoring system does make up a large portion of the budget, though, so it must require a sizeable infrastructure.”

“I see,” says Captain Aizen, his liquid brown eyes flitting to her. There is an expectation in his gaze, one that she cannot immediately place.

“Tadahiro’s engineering firm drew up the plans, but it all went over my head.” Hisana takes a pensive sip from her cup, but, upon hearing her own words float above them, her heart stops.

_Dammit._

_‘Tadahiro.’_

It was a stupid mistake to refer to the lord so casually. A mistake that Captain Aizen instantly catches and latches onto. 

“I wasn’t aware you were familiar with Lord Konoe.”

“Yes, I met him at the Cherry Blossom Festival last year,” she lies with sunny exuberance. 

Hisana is guessing that Captains Aizen, Ukitake, and Kyōraku aren’t drinking buddies. Or, if they are, perhaps Captain Aizen is being exceedingly polite by waiting for her to slip and reveal an intimacy before pouncing so as not to reveal himself. 

She arches a brow. “Is the captain friendly with the lord? Or do you require an introduction?” she asks with a teasing grin.

Captain Aizen chuckles lightly at her question. “How quickly you’ve discerned my motives, Miss Hisana,” he confesses. “My family has been vying for several of the security and monitoring contracts for months. But, as of late, negotiations have gone cold. I suppose I was hopeful that you might shed some light on where the project stands as to that issue.”

“Unfortunately, no, Captain. I take tea with the lord this week. I could inquire then.”

Captain Aizen smiles at her. It is a sweet, soft smile, and it convinces her that her paranoia about their meeting is unfounded. 

“Oh,” Hisana murmurs, glancing down at the board. “It appears that the captain has outplayed me.” 

_No surprise there_. 

“A pity,” he says, leaning back, arms crossed against his chest. He examines the formation of pieces with a philosopher’s stare. “It was an enjoyable game.” 

Hisana wonders if he is being facetious.

“We should play again sometime.” 

She _is_ being facetious.

“Indeed,” says Captain Aizen before taking to his feet, “sometime soon.”

Hisana escorts him to the door. They are so close. Everything is going so well. Relief crests over her, lifting her spirits for a quick moment.

 _And_ ….

Captain Aizen pauses a hairsbreadth from the room’s threshold. His gentle gaze drifts up to the ceiling as if he is just remembering something important. “This is my third visit, no?”

Ice-cold daggers sting Hisana, everywhere and all at once, skewering her in place. 

Without waiting for a response, he looms over her, bowing close. So close that she can smell the tea on his breath. His brown eyes darken as they linger on her lips.

Certain that he is going to kiss her, Hisana flinches, jerking her chin to the side. She braces. Every muscle clenches. Eyes squeeze shut. If she doesn’t see what comes next, does it really happen? 

It’s easier to slip away in the darkness. An easy defense when all others fail. A defense she has learned well.

The captain, however, stops short. His heat is still present, still radiating across her cheek. The tide of his breath ghosts over her lips. He relents, and the fluttering of the shadow he casts over her reveals a change of plans. 

At the precious distance that creeps between them, Hisana opens her eyes but keeps her stare trained on the cedar wood of the doorframe. In her periphery, she sees his mouth lower to her ear. His breath, hot and moist, sears into her neck. Just like his reiatsu sears into her, invading her with thrumming intensity. She does not lift a shield or raise a shoulder in her defense, worried that it will only provoke him.

Instead, she plays dead. Going cold. Numbness grips her and strips her mind of all things happy and warm, like bark from a beech tree. 

In her darkness, Hisana feels his lingering presence, toying with her, as a lion might toy with the open throat of a kill. 

“Next game,” he says, voice deep and rough, “set the bedding.”

Hisana hears him through the fear that crowds her. His words enter her head sharp and twisted, and, in response, she gives him what he wants, utter capitulation. 

“Yes, my captain,” as she says the words her heart abandons her.

* * *

A wintry bleakness becomes Hisana when she enters the Saruwakaza theater. She can hardly focus. Isn’t quite sure how she got there when Ese ushers her into Tojuro’s dressing room. Her heart beats, fitful and fluttering, like a moth’s wings. 

Tojuro greets her with a wide warm smile, and his eyes reflect the gentle flicker of the flame set in the lantern on his side table. “Good news!” he chirps.

Hisana’s gaze drifts to him. She can hardly focus. On him. On the subject at hand. It takes a concerted effort to force herself to the surface when all she wants is to float in the velvety darkness of nothingness.

“Hey,” grumbles Tojuro. His hands wrap around her shoulders, and he gives her a little shake, “Soul Society to Hisana.”

She withdraws. 

Fleeting glimpses paint a mosaic. Beautiful, sumptuous silks drape across the floors as if her friend has gone on a tear, not finding a single garment to his liking, having flung the rejects to the wind. Bottles of sake and wine and a few spent cups line the low table set in the middle of the room.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Tojuro curls a finger under her chin and nudges her head back. “You look positively despondent.”

“I’m alright,” Hisana murmurs, eyes dropping to the floor. A puddle of red silk laps at her socked feet. 

“Did Tadahiro do something?”

“No,” she says, voice soft, “he’s been called away on business for a few days.” Hisana should be _rejoicing_ at this happy development, but the tundra that blows through her is impenetrable. 

“Did Lord Byakuya Kuchiki do something rash?”

“No. I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

“Oh, dear,” says Tojuro with a pitying look. “Your poor sweet heart must be sick then. Missing your lover.” He pats her shoulder sympathetically.

Hisana’s lips part, and her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth. She wants to correct Tojuro, but the words filling her head quickly retreat down her throat.

It’s crazy, she thinks. To be upset over Captain Aizen demanding his entitlement. She should’ve done all the things she knew to do. Set the bedding. Plied him with sweetness and her body. But, she couldn’t. She can’t. The prospect of freedom has changed her, ruined her with reckless hope. 

Hisana opens her mouth to explain her sorry state, but, the moment she meets Tojuro’s eyes, she can’t. It sounds so stupid. So trifling. The captain hadn’t laid a hand on her or forced a kiss. And, yet, she feels just as violated as when Tadahiro forced himself on her at the kimono collection event.

There is no sane way to describe the source of her dismay, and, while Hisana is certain that Tojuro would never judge her for her feelings, she suspects he has braved worse behavior from his patrons.

“Missing my lover?” Hisana deflects drily. “Why do you assume that Lord Byakuya Kuchiki is my lover?”

Tojuro waves off her question with a flustered laugh. “Aren’t you? You selected him during your dance.” His lips twitch a little before thinning into a nervous smile. 

He knows something. Something he isn’t supposed to know or, worse, something he isn’t supposed to tell her. Hisana lowers her chin an inch, her eyes narrow. “Did Okuni say something?”

“Oh, you,” Tojuro teases her. “You know we only talk behind your back with the greatest of affection!” The smile he flashes this time is true. It’s big, wide, and the warmth of it reaches his eyes and crinkles his nose. “Okuni told me that you were being considered for concubinage by the Kuchiki.” 

Hisana closes her eyes and loosens a heavy breath. Of course. As much as she loves both Tojuro and Okuni, they are incorrigible gossips. Okuni, especially, if she gets even the slightest taste of alcohol.

“I take it that didn’t work out?” he asks, voice dropping a note. Tojuro gives her a comforting squeeze of the shoulder.

Hisana doesn’t want to answer. She feels ungrateful holding two offers from two men that most in her class would fight to the death over. And yet, she wants _more_.

She has always wanted more.

“Don’t despair,” murmurs Tojuro, mistaking her hesitation for melancholia, “I have good news.” 

He takes her by the hand and leads her to the table. Grabbing up a few of his silken garments and tossing them in a corner of the room, he clears precisely two spaces, set side-by-side, on which to sit. 

“We have a potential buyer for your kimono,” he says.

Hisana startles. “Both of them?”

He nods his head. “Yes.”

“Who is the buyer?” she asks in disbelief.

“My go-between didn’t say, and, in my elation, I didn’t think to ask.” Tojuro pats her hand. “Did you have a chance to inquire as to whether there are any _strings_ attached to your kimono?”

“No strings. They’re mine to do with as I please.”

“Wonderful!” He gives a little clap at the news. “Our kimono expert kindly took a look at them, and they appraised at a very handsome price.” Tojuro leans over. His fingers clasp the edge of the table, and he centers his weight over straight-outstretched arms. Finding the sheet of paper among the remains of what looked to be a very lively party, he tears the page from the wood, and hands it to her.

“The quote far exceeds the price of your contract. You wouldn’t have to fret over money for at least 100 years.”

Hisana’s eyes greedily soak in every line, every character, every little stray mark on the parchment. It feels surreal, like a dream playing in reverse.

“Do you think the buyer is well-funded enough, though?” She can’t think of more than ten or so families wealthy enough to purchase one of the kimono for the appraised value, let alone _both_ of them. “Is the Soul King _himself_ buying these garments?” she asks, nonplussed.

Tojuro sets his chin against the curve of her neck and glances down at the page. “I mean, I _wouldn’t_ put it past my go-between. He’s a very tenacious man, but I do believe the Soul King is out of his league.” 

“I just can’t—” the breath runs out of Hisana before she can complete the thought.

“Believe it.” Tojuro gives her a small hug. “When these puppies sell, we’re going to have such a party."

“Does the potential purchaser know the asking price yet?” 

Tojuro shakes his head. “You get to decide that, my dear. You can choose to quote the appraised value or go higher or lower.”

“Let’s do it at the appraised quote,” says Hisana, dropping the sheet from her face and glancing sidelong at her friend. “What’s the worst they can say? No?” Her shoulder lifts in a shrug. 

“Done!” he agrees. 

“Thank you so much.” Hisana turns to her dear friend, and, meeting his gaze, her heart melts. “Thank you for everything.” 

Not satisfied that she has fully conveyed her gratitude, Hisana throws her arms around Tojuro’s neck.

“Of course. You would do no less for me.” His hand presses against her back, keeping her braced and centered. 

Feeling his warmth penetrate her winter’s chill, Hisana closes her eyes and sinks against him. The emotions that she has been holding back for so long come quick, and they overwhelm her. 

For the first time in a long while, Hisana sobs. Ugly, chest-cracking sobs. Tears stream down her cheeks to her chin, streaking her neck and wetting the lovely citrine silk cloaking Tojuro’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers between gasps. 

Tojuro gently strokes her back, tucking her head under his chin. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”

Her friend holds her close, and he doesn’t let go until she’s done.

* * *

Byakuya should’ve been skeptical when Suiko requested lunch in the Third District. But, they were in the middle of the Autumn Festival events, and he had become so accustomed to capitulating over the last three weeks, he didn’t question it. 

Tucked away in a satchel that hangs from his side is a stack of Squad Six cost reports for each month, which he plans to use to devise the budget projections for the next year. 

Finding a place at the small oak table situated in the middle of that cramped room, Byakuya sets the satchel to the side. His fingers pluck at the ties, flip back the flap of the bag, and retrieve the spreadsheets. He lays the documents at his side as the server finishes setting the table with tea and sake.

When the server flutters to the threshold of the private room, Byakuya has the sinking feeling that she wants to tell him something.

Oh, how he suddenly he wishes he was at one of his family-owned restaurants in the Seireitei. The waitstaff always knew not to bother him when he had reports in hand. 

Frowning, Byakuya lifts his gaze to the server, silently commanding her to hurry along.

“The rest of your party has not arrived yet,” she says.

His eyes shift from one empty end of the table to the other. 

Yes, he has gathered as much. 

“I will bring them here once they arrive.”

Again, Byakuya is aware that this is how _lunch_ goes when one of the guests has not yet arrived. Especially since the guest in question is Suiko, who, he has come to learn, does not burden herself with the expectation of punctuality.

“Is there anything else milord requires?” asks the server.

“No,” says Byakuya. He then sets a few of the cost reports on the table in front of him.

The rustle of the door drawing shut secures his privacy. Glancing down at his forms, Byakuya finds himself lost in a trove of numbers. Expenditures fill his mind. 

Absently, Byakuya reaches for his teacup and takes a sip.

The _taste_ drags him from his quiet contemplation. A powerful grimace overcomes his face. _What is this?_ he wonders, mortified at what strange flavor coats his tongue.

The tea tastes _old_ , like how _old yard clippings_ smell. 

Byakuya represses the urge to pucker as the flavor-profile shifts. Somehow time alone _worsens_ the taste, turning old yard clippings into bitter bile in his mouth.

_This is why one does not dine in the Third._

His poor dear Hisana, having only known the cuisine of the Third or, worse, _whatever it is that they must feed the souls in Inuzuri_. Once Hisana is free, he hopes she will allow him to rectify this for her. If she can’t go to the Seireitei, he can bring items from the Seireitei to her. Byakuya can also recommend a personal chef, one who has privileges to import ingredients from the Seireitei.

His heart thuds a little at the fantasy he is quick to construct in his head. He is too hopeful, too ready to ignore the inevitability that Hisana will reject him the moment she accepts the offer that he made on her kimono.

Byakuya knows, though. A large, sinking part of him is painfully aware that his hope is a foolish one. It’s this part of him that prevents him from summoning the nerve to visit her. 

Hisana’s service to the Chambers ended a week ago, and, yet, every time he convinces himself to go to her, he finds an excuse to do the opposite. He tries to convince himself that Hisana will seek out his thoughts or share her news of pending freedom with him when she is ready. But, she hasn’t. In fact, she hasn’t written to him at all. 

Although, given his family’s penchant for subterfuge, she may write to him daily. Byakuya, however, wouldn’t know the difference. 

He closes his eyes and exhales a soft breath through his nose.

He should go to Hisana. Let her tell him about her scheme to purchase her own contract. Or watch as she artfully dodges the truth. Hisana is at her most beautiful when dancing around inconvenient truths. 

Inhaling a deep breath, Byakuya forces these fears down, and he waits for the ache of want to lessen before diverting his energy to the spreadsheets laid out in front of him. 

He glances down at the projected budget for Squad Six’s first-aid items. His eyes widen slightly. It is _astronomical_.

_What happened?_

It hadn’t been this _excessive_ in the past.

Are the men injuring themselves _walking to work_? Is there some structural defect—a missing floorboard? an uneven incline in the training field? a heretofore unsealed fighting pit?—that the men are falling prey to? Byakuya needs to perform a root-cause analysis to determine the source of the sudden incline.

Thoughtfully, he jots down this note to himself and flips to another category of costs, one that doesn’t rattle him more than he already is: Office supplies. Examining this itemization, the door to the room slides open. 

Byakuya is half-tempted to continue reading, but a fierce heart palpitation comes fast and sure. It yanks his attention to the person standing at the threshold to the room. Excitement rips through him.

Reflexes bring him to his feet. The paper once clenched in his hands becomes a forgotten memory as it floats to the floor. 

_Hisana._

Byakuya is thunderstruck. Lightning blazes down his spine before snaking across his back. The crescendo amplifies, until the electrical buzzing and snapping at his nerves are everywhere all at once. The air vibrates against his skin, and, as he deepens his stare, Byakuya is convinced that time, itself, has stopped at the sight of her. 

“Hisana,” as he says her name the background colors and textures recede, like ink smoking through water, until she is the only thing he perceives, standing peerless in stark contrast.

Byakuya searches her face. A private need burns him at her nearness. Hisana is so close. Just a few steps, and she could be in his arms. 

He wants badly to feel her body pressed to his and to smell the sweet scent of white plum in her hair. 

“Byakuya,” says Hisana, completely dispensing with his titles and honors. The intimacy of this small act feels erotic, and it convinces him that there is no better sound than that of his name nakedly spoken on her lips 

“Nice of you to acknowledge me too, Lord Byakuya,” mocks Suiko, her voice a strong sing-song. 

Suiko’s words break the spell, and the soft whites of the rice paper and pale ambers of the cedar wood and tatami come rushing back into the room. 

Byakuya blinks hard. 

When he opens his eyes, he is fully prepared for his vision of Hisana to have scattered, revealing her to be nothing more than a phantasm of a tired mind. 

But, she doesn’t disappear. Hisana is there. In that room. With him. So frustratingly close. Dressed in a lovely indigo kimono with white and gold embroidered cranes. Unfettered, her glossy black hair waterfalls over her shoulders and down her back, to her waist.

Byakuya badly wants to take her that his fingers curl into his hands at the hateful burn of the mental restraints keeping him locked in place.

“ _Good grief_ ,” groans Suiko, stepping around Hisana to the head of the oak table, where she plops down on a pillow. “When you two stop _mooning_ over each other, I’m sure you’ll get around to asking me why we’re all here.”

Hisana breaks first, fluttering a little as if she is just remembering Suiko exists. “Yes, of course,” she murmurs, voice quiet and thin. “My apologies, Lady Heishi. Where are my manners?” 

Hisana gives Byakuya and Suiko a graceful bow. When she straightens, her eyes find him again. “It’s been so long since we last saw each other,” she says, voice small, like the realization pains her.

“Too long,” agrees Byakuya. 

Unable to keep his distance, Byakuya goes to Hisana’s side and helps her into seiza as if she is a glass flower that might break if not positioned with great care. He then takes a seat next to her, keeping _just enough_ space between them for propriety’s sake. 

When Byakuya finally glances down the table, he fixes Suiko. She does not appear _pleased_ , lips pressed together in a tight, bloodless line, and gaze narrowed at _him_.

He bristles a little at the hypocrisy of Suiko’s irritation. 

Suiko knows of his feelings for Hisana, having confessed her knowledge of these feelings to _him_. And, Byakuya has never once denied or lied about his devotion. Nor has he ever attempted to placate Suiko with false sentiments or hope that these feelings may diminish or be diverted. 

Suiko’s glare melts under his stare. Taking its place is a wistful smile. “I know,” she whispers. “I know you two care very much for one another.”

Byakuya takes Hisana’s hand in his under the table. His heart flutters at the possibility that she might pull away. When she doesn’t the hammering in his chest stops. And, when her hand squeezes his tighter, he is lost. Sweet euphoria intoxicates him, deadening his senses and further quieting him.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you both here,” says Suiko, and she waits for their reaction. 

A reaction that never comes because Byakuya cannot hear her through the heady haze that Hisana’s stare inspires in him.

“Could you _stop_ mooning at each other for like … _two seconds_?” Suiko grumbles under her breath. 

Byakuya jerks his head in the direction of Suiko’s voice, where he finds her _glaring_ at him in particular. Her cheeks flush from irritation, and her lips are pursed. He is tempted to glance askance at Hisana again, but Suiko’s fiery gaze cautions him against it.

“This isn’t going to work,” Suiko sighs and shakes her head. “I brought you both here to tell you that. We need to figure a way out of this arrangement.”

Hisana blanches. “Suiko,” she says, voice soft and tender, “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do understand, Hisana. I’ve tried,” anxiety braids the fraying ends of Suiko’s voice, “I’ve tried to pack away my pride and dispense with the hopes that I once held for myself. But, this isn’t going to work no matter the configuration. And, our lives are too long to endure such pointless misery. And, for what? _Tradition_? Because our parents bought into this arrangement, were made miserable by it, and hope to pay the favor forward indefinitely?”

Hisana looks to Byakuya to intervene, but he cannot find a single flaw in Suiko’s reasoning. Both he and she are ill-suited for one another in marriage. 

“I agree. This will not work,” he says.

“Lord Byakuya,” cautions Hisana, “are you—”

“Perfectly serious, Hisana,” he answers, reading the call of her question.

Hisana gapes at him, the color draining from her face. “Lady Suiko—” Her bright eyes fix Suiko.

Lady Suiko, too, is in no mood to hear any argument in favor of the current nuptials. “No, Hisana. I don’t want a third in my marriage. Ever. I want a husband who sees me, wants me and is loyal to me. I want tenderness and counsel and to be in a partnership. I want warmth and love. I am wealthy enough on my own and secure in my family and friends. I don’t require a husband, and I would rather spend my days unattached than settle for less.” She stops to catch her breath then turns to Byakuya. “Lord Byakuya, are you prepared to give me what I require?”

“No,” he says without a moment’s hesitation.

Suiko gives a firm nod of her head, and, then, she looks to Hisana. “How do we get out of this?”

Hisana flutters at the directness of Suiko’s gaze. “A—ar—are you asking _me_ for counsel?” 

“Of course,” says Suiko. “You’re the only one who has discussed this arrangement with members of both of our families. You are in the best position to discern where any weakness may be.”

Hisana blinks hard as if she is trying to jostle a memory loose. It appears to work because she goes quiet, eyes darkening, as she retreats into herself. A few long moments pass before she answers, “Lord Heishi,” on a hesitant breath. 

Byakuya sees how her gaze flickers as if she is flipping through pages of memories, scrutinizing them, piecing them all together. Hisana never confided anything about Lord Heishi or the price he demanded of her to Byakuya.

 _Hisana_ , his heart aches, realizing just how well she has weathered the manipulations of her betters. If only she had told him, he could’ve stopped her torture. He _would’ve_ stopped it.

Fire storms his veins at how callously the families have treated her. They had played her as a pawn in their game. And for what? Supply chains and trade routes? 

_Fuck them_.

“I will end this,” says Byakuya, a cold rage setting the lines of his face still.

“No!” Both Suiko’s and Hisana’s voices rush out of them in unison, consonants colliding midair. 

Suiko is the first to digress from Byakuya’s offer, sweeping it quickly under the proverbial rug, as if it never happened. She twists a little in her seat to observe Hisana. “You think my father may capitulate?”

Hisana hesitates. She doesn’t trust herself, and it breaks Byakuya’s heart to witness.

His hand tightens around Hisana’s, and he glances down at her. He hopes she sees his ardent admiration, his unwavering support, and his heart thrashes in his chest when she returns his stare, tentative and afraid in her affect.

“It’s Lord Heishi,” she says on a whispered breath and gives him an assured nod of her head. Her gaze then trails to Suiko. “Your father worries over your happiness. He fears you will strangle in the cold halls of Kuchiki manor.”

Suiko lifts her head, and her eyes glimmer with hope. “Father would worry over me,” she says on a shaky breath. “He always worries over me,” she adds, gaze drifting to the side, as if she is retreating into the depths of a fond memory. “I will speak to him.”

“And, if you can convince him?” asks Hisana.

Suiko’s eyes widen slightly. “Yes, what then?” Again, she looks to Hisana for advice.

“You end our relations,” says Byakuya, voice calm but razor-sharp, “publicly.”

Both Suiko and Hisana turn to him, shocked.

Hisana’s shock, however, is quick to morph into a smirking grin. “Yes,” she says quietly to herself. “A public breakup.” She nods her head, and he _knows_ she is thinking of the fallout of his _extravagant handling_ of Lady Niwa. 

His cold dismissal of Lady Niwa had been done for a few reasons, the most animating of which had been because he found her deportment deplorable. She had plied him with pretty sentiments, _almost_ convincing him that her feelings rang true. That is, until he overheard her discussions with a handmaiden that betrayed her affection as nothing more than calculated ambition. 

The _other_ , _more_ _pragmatic_ , reason he chose a _public_ forum to dismiss her affections was to send a signal to his family that he would not have her. He knew that her family had acted swiftly to seize upon his attraction to her. Disgracing their daughter ceased all further discussions of a potential betrothal.

It had been a disgraceful measure to take on his part, given their relative positions in the hierarchy of the Seireitei, but it proved to be an effective strategy nonetheless. 

If Suiko broke their betrothal in grand, public fashion, Byakuya is certain he would weather the temporary sting of humiliation. News of it would likely become uncomfortable fodder in the social pages for a spell. _A long spell_ , but he’d survive, even if _certain members_ of his family shrank with shame. As it stands, his reputation among the aristocracy isn’t exactly _sterling_ , but there is no one stronger than he among his family to challenge his position as the rightful heir.

But, public ridicule isn’t a worthy enough opponent to force him to forfeit his beloved. Especially when Hisana has suffered so much more—censure, threats, humiliation, ridicule—to maintain their connection for this long.

“Really?” asks Suiko, face turning beet-red at the thought. “Shame Lord Byakuya in _public_?”

Hisana nods her head. “Yes. It will be harder to hide the fractures of a broken union if the break occurs under the bright light of public spectacle.” Hisana pauses, eyes softening as she meets Suiko’s gaze, “Pretend you’re performing a part of a Noh play. Make it _indulgent_.” 

Byakuya turns to his lover, expression placid, but he can’t resist the urge to gape at her _ruthlessness_.

Suiko’s lips split into a wide smile at whatever storyline she is imagining to disgrace him. The sweet revenge she entertains seems to draw the color to her face, and her gaze finds him, as if to ask for his permission. “Do you agree, milord?” A hopeful blaze lights her emerald-green eyes.

How could he deny her this small reprisal? “It’s the most effective way to sever our romantic ties,” he answers impassively.

“You can blame me and my interference,” offers Hisana, as if to quell any reservations that Suiko may continue to cling to.

Byakuya turns to Suiko, an objection lodged in his eyes, but, before he can bite out the order to spare his beloved, Suiko’s attention is already locked on Hisana, and she shakes her head.

Suiko leans over and clasps Hisana’s free hand in both of hers. “Hisana, I would never invite censure against you. You are a dear friend to me. My rejection of Lord Byakuya will only involve our differences, of which there are _many_ , I _assure_ you.”

Hisana bites her bottom lip, and her brows pull together. “Lord Byakuya,” she begins, turning to him, “do you consent to a public shaming?”

“If it will end this arrangement. Emphatically, yes.”

A look of relief smooths Suiko’s face. “Okay, I now know what to do.” She gives a bow before shuffling to the door.

“Where are you going?” Hisana asks.

Byakuya jerks Hisana’s hand further into his lap with hopes to quiet her before she can prevent Suiko’s departure.

“I’m going to speak to my father. If all goes well, is the banquet tomorrow an appropriate venue to end our betrothal, milord?” asks Suiko, eyes pinning Byakuya.

Unable to think of an earlier social engagement, Byakuya consents with a nod.

Suiko bows her head low. “Thank you, milord,” she says before disappearing into the hallway.

Hisana turns to Byakuya, and time seems to slow its exacting pace.

“I missed you endlessly,” he says.

Her grin widens into a smile that reaches her eyes. “I as well, Lord Byakuya.” She turns, and fearing her departure, he catches her wrist. 

She stops and glances over her shoulder. “We’re in a teahouse in the Pleasure Quarters, milord,” she murmurs slyly, “a closed door here stays closed.” Her free hand slides the door shut.

Thinking he understands her intent, Byakuya swiftly brings her into his arms, relishing the warmth and litheness of her body as her weight settles against him. For a long moment, he holds her tight against him. His heart strums heavy, staccato beats that vibrate through his body.

He presses a kiss against the top of her head. Intense euphoria floods him, and, tilting her head back he loses himself in her gaze. This is all he wants. He swears it. 

“Byakuya,” she whispers softly. 

There it is again. His unadorned name, spoken so sweetly that it’s the only sound he wants to hear. 

Hisana adjusts her weight against him, twisting in his arms so that she may face him. Her gaze is as probing as his, and silence finds her just as swiftly. She brushes a tendril of hair from his eyes, and she smiles tenderly down at him.

His hands travel, slow and soft, up the curve of her back, stopping just under her ribs. She is so small, delicate. Her fiery and intelligent eyes, however, always convince him otherwise.

Needy want burns at his core, nascent but distracting all the same. He wants to stuff it down, but no matter what he does, it only grows. Like wildfire, it is on him, and the flame of want erupts into raw desire. 

His hands wrap around her hips, and he brings them over his. Shame burns his cheeks at this wanton act, and he half-expects her to pull back, to slow the pace, but she doesn’t. Instead, her spine straightens a little, and she allows the collar of her silks to slip over her shoulder. 

Byakuya’s hand goes to the collar, but, with liquid grace, she catches him and forces his hand to her thigh. “Don’t,” she instructs and lets the silk slips further still until it reveals the white expanse of her long neck and clavicle. 

“Are you teasing me?” he asks, voice throaty and low.

“ _Never_ ,” she whispers. 

A wry glint brightens her eyes as she leans over him, tantalizing him with her nearness, with the heat of her body. Her mouth hovers so close to his that he can smell the sweet scent of tea and honey on her breath. 

“ _This_ is teasing,” she says, lips dangerously close to his as they wrap around her words. All it would take is one stray motion, and they would be locked in a kiss. He could yank her silks open. He could take her, feel the crush of her body against his.

But, he waits, anticipation steadily building and blood pounding in his ears. Desire, raw and wanton, sparks between them. It is tempting to submit. His fingers hook into silk and flesh as he resists the urge to close the distance. Every muscle fiber pulls tight like chain links shaking under too great a pressure, but his restraints hold firm.

Hisana tilts her head, eyes unfocused but grazing his lips. Her chest rises and falls on ragged breaths, but she continues, pulling the connection between them taut until he swears that he can feel the air vibrate around them. Only then, does she finally relent, lowering her mouth to his.

She possesses him with a kiss. This isn’t an easy or gentle kiss. It is a warning, hard and fast, telling him of the danger of falling too far, sinking too deep, into this feeling. He wouldn’t be able to hold back.

And, she’s not wrong. Those restraints of his that had served him so well under so many circumstances catch flame. Fiber by fiber they burn, and the ash that follows is powerless to stop him from drawing her closer.

His tongue pushes past her lips, and he tips her head back, fingers threading through her hair, feeling the warmth of her scalp against his knuckles. She responds in kind, her fingers coiling around the locks of his hair and tugging down, forcing his mouth to her neck, where he immediately explores the hollow of her throat, pressing his tongue firm against her pulse point.

She tastes sweet, and he feels the flutters of her heart. They radiate it through him, convincing his own heart to syncopate with hers. The result overwhelms him.

He barely notices the brush of her hands against his shoulders. The way she widens his collar. How she hungers to feel more of his skin against her. 

When he nips her neck, Hisana gives a soft moan, and he reaches up to taste the sound of it in his own mouth. 

“Your heart is racing,” she pants between kisses.

“ _Your_ heart is racing,” he protests, wanting more. Wanting the taste of her skin, her moans, and everything else.

He feels her lips stretch into a smile against his neck. Her hand slips down to his thigh. It takes her only a moment to find evidence of his desire, and, carefully she strokes him.

A quick breath rushes out of him, and he squirms a little, uncomfortable doing what they’re doing in public.

Hisana pulls back. Her eyes are dark, pupils dilated, as she studies him for a long moment before pressing a soft kiss to his brow. “No one will bother us here,” she murmurs, voice a breathy rasp in his ear. “I suggested this place when Lady Suiko asked where to take lunch.”

He smirks and shifts so that he can see her better. “Were you planning on seducing Suiko?” he teases, slightly annoyed at the space that parts them.

Hisana glances up at him, her hands working the knot of his obi. An impish grin hangs from her lips. “I was hoping she would invite you.”

“So, I was the object of your seduction?”

Her grin lengthens when her hand slips in the opening of his robes. She presses her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. 

Byakuya nearly splutters at the tender way she watches him. The heated desire that still smokes through him lifts, and he places his hand over hers.

“I missed you,” she sighs, lifting her chin, almost as a defense. 

Before he can say the words back, she stops him with a kiss. A kiss that is slower, more tender, than the last. Instead of a warning, Hisana confesses her feelings to him with each sweep of her tongue, every brush of her lips. She tells him of her hope, of her pain, and of her hesitance to hand herself over too readily to anyone.

Before Byakuya can convince her that she is safe in his arms, Hisana pulls back, hovering above him just enough so that she can take him with a glance. “I read the letter you left in the book you gave me.”

A private heat sears his cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to read _that_ letter.”

She smiles at him, as if his admission confirms a suspicion of hers. “It was beautiful. You should’ve told me of your travails sooner.”

“It was shameful. What I did.”

Hisana shakes her head and brings her hands up to his shoulders. Tenderly, she traces the line of his back. “It was perfectly natural.” Her fingers lace at the nape of his neck.

“I betrayed you.” In so many ways.

“Our relationship has never been predicated on that kind of fidelity, milord.” 

“But, I would like it to be.” The words come as a shock to them both. A shock that cracks his chest and that clouds her face with pain.

“I as well.” Hisana’s admission comes on a heavy breath. “Did you—?” She quickly abandons the question, likely sacrificing the heart it takes to hear the answer.

Byakuya grips her by the waist with both hands. “I tried,” he confesses, “I wanted to prove to myself that maybe a triad could work between us.” His gaze retreats to the floor. Eyes search the patterns in the tatami. “I couldn’t so much as kiss her.”

When he summons the courage to meet her gaze again, he finds a glint of recognition burning in her eyes, as if she can place the time and place of his faltering. “Did you?” This half-spoken question drives him to a more perilous cliff.

Hisana shakes her head. “Not since our last night together.” 

He can’t ask the next question, _‘Will you?’_ It isn’t fair to either of them even though it tortures him. 

Instead, he digresses. “You rejected our proposal,” he says, thumbs rubbing absent circles under her breasts. “Does that mean you have accepted another’s offer?” 

He knows she hasn’t accepted Tadahiro’s offer, but, desperately, he wants to force her to confide in him. He wants her to tell him that she seeks to free herself by purchasing her own contract. He wants to know her mind, her plans, if there is a chance that she considers him in her future, or at all.

He wants too much, he realizes.

Hisana sinks against him, arms clinging to him as if she is afraid of being swept away by swift water. “I’d rather we think about this moment, not the moments that come after,” she says.

“If this works,” he begins, holding her tighter, until she is flush against his chest, “and this betrothal ends, would you consent to becoming my wife?” The question is soft, full of hope, hope that finds itself outmatched by their circumstances. Hope that begs for life even in the easy comfort of that room.

Byakuya feels Hisana take a sharp breath. Her chest quivers against him, and her arms squeeze tighter around his neck. The flutter of hope writhes in her heart. 

“Say yes,” he pleads on a quiet breath.

The moment he feels her heart still, he knows she has reached for the possibility, and cold pragmatism has crushed it.

“Don’t tempt me with fantasy, milord.”

“I want you now.”

She watches him. Her eyes somber but no less piercing. “Then, take me,” she whispers with a mocking grin, cupping his cheek with a warm hand. 

“I want you always,” he adds, bringing her wrist to his lips. Her pulse quickens against him. 

“We aren’t guaranteed always,” says Hisana, “We only get the right here and the right now.”

Byakuya wants to disagree. Disagree ardently. But, he stops himself, quelling his weariness with sweet kisses. Nipping at the shelf of her clavicle. “Never leave me, Hisana,” he murmurs against the heat of her skin. He wishes that his words came out more commanding. Instead, they hang thin and fragile in the air between them, like a question.

“Never is a promise, milord.” She yanks him close with a look. “And I don’t think I can give you that promise. Not yet, at least.”

“If you were free, and I free,” he says, wanting so badly to reveal that he knows her freedom is all but guaranteed, “could you make me that promise?”

A sliver of distance comes between them when Hisana lifts her chest and straightens her back. Her eyes are on him, reading the lines of his face just as intensely as he reads her. 

She takes his face in her hands. “If we were both free, milord, I would give you all my always and all my nevers. I would give you all my vows and all my oaths. I would give you all I have. None of which will ever be enough.” Her chest heaves at this confession.

“Hisana,” he says, letting his head fall back just enough to stare at her with the reverence of a supplicant, “you have always been more than enough.”

Tears swell in her eyes. She lowers her head closer to his. Her dark hair falls like a curtain around them, dark as the starless sky and perfumed with white plum blossoms.

Trapped by her beauty, he doesn’t see her kiss coming.

But kiss him she does. With everything she has.

Indeed, this is more than enough.

* * *

Hisana sits in her rooms replaying yesterday afternoon’s misdeeds in her mind. The heat of remembered kisses and shards of desire spins her thoughts into a lovely yarn. Dreamily, she gazes into her reflection, not seeing anything through the heavy veil of ecstasy that blankets her. 

Only when her comb hits a snag in her hair do her thoughts scatter. The pleasant intoxication of euphoria clears, and the muted colors of her bedroom come into soft focus. 

Twilight slants through the open window, drawing golden patterns on her floors. In the middle of the room, she has set a small oak table with tea and sake. The offerings nor the planning are very _specific_. A casualty of her next caller being a _surprise_.

Hisana _hates_ surprises. Especially since she has cultivated only one lover whose unannounced presence would bring her joy.

To make matters worse, she has doggedly teased and pleaded with Yua and Shunsho to no avail. Both of her attendants respond to her inquiries with locked lips and amused stares.

Their amused stares seem to portend good news. The potential of which exponentially increases with Yua’s absence and the fact that Shunsho isn’t _hovering_ impatiently outside her door. This all leads Hisana to the assumption that the call tonight is a social one. 

At the thought, Hisana’s heart expands with reckless hope, but she stops herself. The feeling, however, isn’t easy to tame. It only takes a different shape, like water being poured into a new container. This time hope begins to strum at the chords of her heart.

At least it isn’t rampaging through her thoughts. No, right then, her thoughts are free to wander. Always a perilous thing. Where they roam is to the future. There are so many iterations of what her future looks like. The timelines twist and jumble inside her head until their threads feel thick enough to hang from. 

And, while she has thought deeply about several of these possible realities—her as Tadahiro’s concubine, her as Lord Byakuya’s concubine, her serving the Peony House until her dying breath—the one that her heart desires goes unexamined.

If she could achieve freedom at her own hand, what then?

She isn’t foolish enough to linger on that possibility for any great length of time. Hope is sweet in fleeting glances, she thinks, but it should never be allowed to set into the bones. 

“Look who we found!” Tojuro’s melodic voice enters the room before either he or Okuni have the chance. The door crashes back veiling her two very colorfully dressed, very _elated_ friends.

Clasped against their chests are supplies for raucous merrymaking. 

Hisana half-expects to see them when she turns from her vanity. But, she smiles wide, heart soaring, all the same. 

“What did I say? What _did I say_ , Hisana?” Tojuro asks.

Hisana shakes her head, grinning. “What _did you say_ , Tojuro?” she parrots back.

He arches a well-defined brow and gives her a slow, mocking shake of his head. “That when this agreement was finalized, we were all going to celebrate.”

“So, guess what happened _today_?” sings Okuni, hoisting what appears to be a full bottle of plum wine.

That question brings Hisana to her feet, and she throws her arms around both of her friends. Joy floods her, setting her nerve endings a flutter with raw, bright electricity. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” wheezes Okuni, “you’re gonna crush the alcohol, honey.”

Hisana pulls back, and, with a burst of nervous energy, she helps Tojuro and Okuni set a small table full of the alcohol and . . . well . . . _more alcohol_ that her friends have brought. 

The moment all three of them settle comfortably around the table, Hisana pins Tojuro with a look. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, the offer was immediately accepted. For convenience, the go-between brokered the deal with your House, and the portion of the proceeds from the sale will be delivered directly to the bordello. Your contract has been satisfied in full, my dear.” Tojuro’s Rukon drawl thickens in his excitement, making the words nearly incomprehensible.

“Well?” asks Okuni, watching Hisana with large, probing eyes.

Stunned. Hisana is stunned. And, in a rare moment, all the pain, all the worry, all the tension leaves her, and her thoughts go still. She feels so light without all of her burdens. She doesn’t know what to do. What she’s capable of doing. What the rules are now. 

“You look like you’re about to _die_ ,” observes Okuni, who grabs Hisana’s hand with both of hers. “Are you alright? You’ve gone pale as a ghost.”

“No,” says Hisana.

“No?” exclaims Okuni.

Hisana shakes her head. “No. I’m quite alright. It’s just—” Her heart pulses, hard and stops. “It’s just—”

“A lot?” supplies Tojuro, and he proffers a cup of plum wine.

Hisana gladly accepts his offering and drinks it down in a gulp. “Yes. It is so much. I really didn’t think it would happen.”

“What are you going to do now?” asks Okuni.

“I guess I’m going to need to arrange a few things.” Like housing. And food. And clothes. 

_And … and … and … and_ ….

Overwhelmed at her complete and total lack of preparation, Hisana sucks in a sharp breath, hoping it will stab away the panic that enters her.

“You can worry about that in the morning,” Tojuro says, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “You are free to leave tomorrow afternoon, after your last engagement.”

Hisana’s eyes widen and her heart stops cold.

 _Tadahiro_. 

He’s her only engagement tomorrow. 

A deep breath barrels into her chest. It wouldn’t be fair for her to try to weasel a way out of seeing him. After all, it’s because of him that she can escape this life. Because of him and whoever purchased her kimono….

_Which, speaking of…._

“Do we know who bought the kimono?” asks Hisana, attention drifting between her two friends.

Tojuro and Okuni trade guilty glances.

Hisana’s focus narrows to Okuni. The weak link of the two. If someone is going to break tonight and expose the identity of the purchaser, it will be Okuni. Especially if she’s plied with wine.

“The go-between swore me to secrecy,” Tojuro confesses with a weak smile. 

“Secrecy?” Hisana’s brows bunch together. “Why?”

Tojuro lifts a shoulder. “I think it’s because he doesn’t want you to bother yourself with feeling indebted to whoever made the purchase.”

“Captain Kyōraku,” Hisana notes under her breath. 

_Of all the times a man decides to listen to her…._

Even through her sigh, Hisana is unable to feel too chagrined that the captain swore Tojuro to secrecy. She had painted a pretty clear picture of her feelings about indebtedness during their conversation on the bridge.

Tojuro smirks at her. “I never said Captain Kyōraku was the go-between.”

“You didn’t have to,” says Hisana, “He told me himself the day I arrived back from the Chambers.”

“You don’t seem too displeased by that.”

Hisana shakes her head. “Although,” she pauses, brows knitted, “why him?”

“He’s the best connected of the theater’s patrons, and,” Tojuro pauses with a shrug, “he sort of imposed.”

“ _Imposed_?” 

“Yeah. He seems rather fond of the young Kuchiki Lord.” As soon as the words escape him, Tojuro covers his mouth. His large eyes stare unblinkingly at her, and he freezes. Not even his chest moves to draw air.

Stunned silence falls over Hisana like a damn avalanche. Complete bone-chilling silence. Her breath hitches in her throat. Her blood runs icy. She is mortified at what she just heard.

Part of her brain rejects it, throwing up a shield for the information to splatter against. It doesn’t make any sense, she convinces herself. This isn’t real.

“Byakuya Kuchiki?” she asks, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Okuni tilts back her cup and glances over the rim of her wine. Her clear eyes sparkle with amusement. “And, here you thought I was going to be the one to spill the beans,” she says, driving an elbow into Tojuro’s side.

“I—ugh—I—didn’t—”

Hisana’s internal mortification grows with every second her friend sits unable to _deny_ the claim. “It really was Byakuya Kuchiki.” The voice that ekes out of her sounds remote and thready, like she’s speaking to someone at the bottom of a pit.

Now, it makes so much sense. Why the buyer purchased both kimono. Why they acted so promptly. Why they never sought a single concession. Why Tojuro appeared so guilty when she asked him how he knew that she and Byakuya were lovers. The strange hypotheticals Captain Kyōraku presented her on the bridge.

Byakuya Kuchiki had purchased her contract. And, yet, he made no demands. He swore the go-betweens to secrecy. He never forced a confession or tried to extract a debt.

He set her free without condition.

Setting her cup of plum wine down with a _clink_ , Okuni cocks a brow and grins around her words, “So, what are you going to do after you leave this place? You’re not going to just run away, right? You’re still going to visit us, _right_? I’m pretty sure my House is open to female patrons.” Okuni nudges Hisana’s arm with the tip of her elbow.

“I don’t know.” It’s all Hisana can offer as a response. 

It’s the first time she truly pondered what freedom looks like for her. Not having to serve men she doesn’t care for. Not having to scrimp and save. Not having to live only to _survive._

Running away from everything in the Third District seems like something she should do. Her heart gives a hard squeeze—the type of squeeze that tells her that she’s on the right track—at that thought. It would ease tensions, she thinks. Make the awkwardness of stumbling across a former patron less likely. Escape whatever fallout Tadahiro might throw her way.

Spare Lord Byakuya from further shame at her hands.

She wonders if he expects her to linger. If he even would want her without the grandeur and glamour of the Pleasure Quarters. Should she even want him to want that?

He saved her from herself, mustn’t she do the same? Save him from the censure of their relationship?

Maybe she should run away.

She has practice at it. Abandoning those she cares most deeply about to protect them. To protect herself. 

She cares about him deeply. Deeper than anyone else except her beloved sister. 

Could she linger beside him? Watch as her affection for him ruined him? 

Is this her sister all over again? Another bond broken because she isn’t enough?

The pain enters her, cutting through her with a jagged edge. It pierces fast. It pierces deep. It does not relent. 

She doesn’t want him to become another regret, another broken bond, another ghost that haunts her. She needs him, but, more importantly, she thinks she has some value to him.

Perhaps he needs her just enough to convince her to stay.

“You can’t be _serious_ ,” gasps Okuni, cupping Hisana’s cheeks in her hands. “You have friends here. Friends that have—despite our own hearts—helped free you. How ungrateful!” Teasingly, Okuni pats the side of Hisana’s cheek. 

“Indeed, Hisana! Look at all I’ve done.” Tojuro flaps his arm vaguely at her. “I found a go-between. I sweet-talked our appraiser to look at your kimono. I purchased this fine wine with a portion of your funds to celebrate!” He says the last sentence with a wry glance.

Hisana shoves him a little. “Tojuro!”

“Also, what about the poor little Kuchiki lord? He saved you! You aren’t going to at least say goodbye?” asks Okuni, forcing a scandalous tone to her voice.

“I don’t know about that, Okuni,” sighs Hisana. “He’s set to marry Lady Heishi—”

Raucous laughter interrupts Hisana. Both Okuni and Tojuro wave their arms, long silken sleeves flying back as they dissolve into a fit of giggles. Between gasping chuckles, Tojuro shakes his head, fluttering his pale hand in front of his mouth, as if to clear the air for him to speak.

“Oh, dear sweet Hisana,” he begins between giggles, “did you not hear?”

“She dumped his ass!” blurts out Okuni before Tojuro has the chance to deliver the news. “Like in front of everyone at this ridiculously fancy banquet. All the high lords were there, including Lord Captain Kuchiki. Captains. Esteemed wisemen and judges. I bet you could’ve heard a pin drop.” 

Okuni then collapses in a fitful puddle of bright orange and yellow silks. “Can you _imagine_?” she _cackles_ between winded breaths.

Tojuro does slightly better at comporting himself enough to say, “Yes. Lord Byakuya Kuchiki apparently sat flabbergasted at the spectacle. Shocked.”

Hisana watches the schadenfreude continue to break over her friends. She can’t even muster a grin in response. Her stomach churns, cold and wet like the sea at storm.

Honestly, she’s _surprised_. 

When Hisana ventured Lord Heishi’s name at yesterday’s tea, she had assumed that the lord wouldn’t budge. Lord Heishi had baited Hisana well with talk of his love for his daughter and his dreams of Suiko’s happiness, but Hisana hadn’t missed the gleam in his eyes when he forced her hand that night after the disastrous dinner. 

Although, it wasn’t like Hisana had better names to advance to either Lady Suiko or Lord Byakuya. None of Lord Byakuya’s relations seemed particularly _keen_ on securing his happiness, and Suiko’s mother was more concerned with Hisana’s designs on Lord Byakuya than she was with whether her daughter and Lord Byakuya made a good match.

At least the ruse was a convincing one, Hisana thinks to herself with mild satisfaction.

“Is the betrothal broken?” she asks in earnest.

Hisana’s earnestness, however, is met with riotous gurgles. 

Okuni even _snorts_ as she parrots Hisana’s question back at her. “ _Is the betrothal broken_ , she asks?” Notes of disbelief play in the melody of Okuni’s voice. “Um, Hisana, she _dumped_ him in front of the who’s who of the Better-Than-Thou set. _No_ , _they’re no longer engaged_. Apparently, the Lord Captain was _appalled_. Appalled! He left. Without a word. Just got up from his seat walked out of the room.” 

_Poor Lord Byakuya_ , Hisana worries. 

They really hadn’t considered all the pieces in play when they hatched the plan yesterday. Of course, the Lord Captain would be _furious_. It would be _humiliating_ to have the heir to his family shamed so dramatically.

What were they _thinking_?

“I think his aunt might’ve _fainted_ ,” chimes in Tojuro with a toothy grin. “Can you imagine that battleax just plopping down stone-cold in the middle of the banquet? Your little lord must’ve been horrified! I wish I could’ve seen it all for myself.” He places his hand over his heart, eyes set to the middle distance, and Hisana can only guess at the visions dancing through his head.

“So, to answer your prior question, Hisana, no, running away isn’t going to spare your beloved. He’s a free bird at the moment,” says Okuni. She lifts a brow in challenge. “What other reasons do you have? And don’t start with the whole _I’m not good enough, his family, blah, blah, blah_ ,” she sing-songs at the end. “The man effectively bought your contract and didn’t impose a single condition. If that isn’t reason enough to keep his connection, then, honey, do I even know who you are?”

“More importantly, Byakuya Kuchiki is ridiculously handsome,” says Tojuro. “I mean, sure, him buying your contract speaks volumes about how much you mean to him, and it’s romantic and nice, and you’re free and all. But, like, I don’t think the fact that he’s rich, handsome and like _really freaking rich and handsome_ is getting enough coverage, here.”

“I know,” Hisana says on a chastened voice, hearing her friends’ advice, “I know.”

“Well,” Okuni hums on a low note and rocks up to her feet, “I’ll simplify things for you.”

“Where are you going?” Hisana watches her friend cross the floor to her little writing desk in the corner.

Okuni drops into seiza behind the desk. Determination lights her eyes as she flings open some of the drawers. Finding what she needs—ink, a brush, paper—she sets to her task.

“What are you _doing_?” asks Hisana. 

“I’m inviting Byakuya Kuchiki to tea on your behalf. For tomorrow late afternoon. He’ll be overjoyed.” The brush in Okuni’s hand flows down the paper.

“Okuni, no!” Before Hisana can rise to her feet, Tojuro’s hand clasps her shoulder. With this light pressure, he holds her in place.

“Lord Kuchiki feels very deeply for you, Hisana,” he says quietly, trapping the words between them as if they reveal a heartfelt secret. “He apparently had to weather quite a bit of insult from his family to accomplish this feat for you. Don’t cast him away so quickly if you have any compassion for him at all.”

 _Compassion_. The word blares in Hisana’s mind, and she wonders if she has been so aloof at expressing her great _admiration_ for her lover.

“I don’t think he’ll receive the correspondence,” Hisana calls to Okuni somewhat helplessly.

The brush in Okuni’s hand stills. “Why do you say that?”

“His family has been intercepting them.”

Okuni shrugs. “They won’t intercept this one,” she says confidently. “It’ll be written by my hand, and I’ll have it delivered from the Saruwakaza Theater. His busybody relatives and their attendants will think it’s an invitation to a play.”

“I’ll make sure to add the seal so it looks _official_ ,” says Tojuro.

“Okay, Hisana, what do you think about this line? _‘Dearest Byakuya—'”_ Okuni begins.

“I don’t address him like that in my letters. It’s, ‘ _Dear Lord Kuchiki._ ’ Otherwise, he’ll know for certain something is awry,” interrupts Hisana.

Okuni stares at Hisana like Hisana has grown a second head. “How formal!” she says on a disapproving gasp, “I was half-tempted to address him as Byakki.”

Hisana stares in horror at that. “Do not ever address the lord like that!”

“Men like that. It makes the relationship feel more intimate. Right, Tojuro?”

Hisana’s head whips around to find her friend agreeing with Okuni. “I shorten all the men’s names. It’s easier that way,” he says.

“And sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you’ll have patrons with the same nicknames. One season I was so tempted to call all my male callers ‘ _Ichi_ ,’ so I wouldn’t have to go through the emotional labor of _remembering_ what to call them,” continues Okuni to Tojuro’s effusive approval.

“Emotional labor?” Hisana crows.

“Yes. So much emotional labor. And, I give my men _so much_ already. Beauty. Wit. Music. Conversation. Most of my attention. Must I also remember their names?” Halfway through Okuni’s fit, Hisana realizes her friend is mostly speaking in jest.

Mostly.

Okuni pulls out a clean sheet of paper and frowns. “Really, Hisana? ‘ _Lord Kuchiki’_?” she looks like she wants to gag. “It’s so distant.”

“It’s not distant,” counters Hisana.

“Do you refer to Tadahiro Konoe so formally?” Okuni arches a skeptical brow.

“No.” Tadahiro is always Tadahiro. “But, I _respect_ Lord Byakuya.”

“Fine,” grumbles Okuni. “‘ _Dear Lord Kuchiki, I cannot bear another moment of your absence. My devotion to you is endless. I wish to spend all my days staring into your keen gray eyes—'’_

“No!” Hisana cries out. “What are you writing?” Again, she tries to stand, only for Tojuro to tug her back down.

Okuni glances over at Hisana with gaping surprise. “What’s wrong with this? It’s _good_!”

“I would never say those things to him!” Hisana protests. “It’s too much.” Her heart throbs in her chest.

“Don’t you feel devotion, Hisana?” asks Okuni.

“I do.”

“And, aren’t his gray eyes lovely?”

Hisana flushes, and her voice lowers, “Yes.”

“So, what’s the issue, now? You can’t possibly tell me that your lover doesn’t like effusive declarations. He just satisfied your contract,” argues Okuni. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” she declares with an air of authority, “I’m going to write this letter. You’ll never see it. And, tomorrow, you’ll be having a lovely tea with him having a better understanding of your affections.”

“So, you’re not going to let me review what you send?” Hisana startles at this. 

“Precisely.”

“I don’t—”

“Let her,” Tojuro murmurs. “Okuni is very good at this sort of thing.”

“Plus, I’m not re-writing this letter five times over to satisfy your emotional constipation,” adds Okuni with a huffy glance.

“Okay,” Hisana says voice thin and thready.

No running away from this, she thinks. 

* * *

Byakuya kneels patiently outside his grandfather’s door to the study. Night grows thick in the house, staved off by only a few low burning lanterns. Impatiently, he waits, eyes trained on the dark silhouette that flickers across the shoji.

Someone else commands Grandfather’s attention despite Byakuya reserving this time for himself. If he listens closely, he thinks he can hear a woman’s voice. Its cadence is uneven, and, judging by the heavy tones and sighs, the conversation doesn’t sound like it’s going _well_.

After a long pause, the inky silhouette amplifies, growing and expanding, across the rice paper as the body casting the shadows draws nearer. The door vibrates a little at being drawn back a crack.

Voices rush out into the hall. Discordant notes and low-hanging syllables. The air, too, feels tinged with static electricity.

“Many in the family will not abide by this, Father.”

It’s Aunt Masuyo. Byakuya would know her trilling register anywhere; it haunts him at times. Through the sliver in the door, Byakuya sees the flutter of his aunt’s favorite peach kimono. 

“I understand your concern,” comes Grandfather’s baritone, smooth as river-stone. “However, the decision has been rendered, and the majority of the family has agreed.”

“This is setting a poor precedent. We should call for a reconciliation,” she protests.

“No reconciliation can be made now, I’m afraid. The offer has been taken off the table for further consideration.”

With those words, Aunt Masuyo rips the door back and stops short, eyes finding Byakuya. Rage burns in her stare, and her fingers hook into her hands. “ _You_ ,” she growls, her fisted hands shaking at her sides.

Byakuya is certain had he not been the heir that his aunt would’ve slapped him or kicked him or worse. But, secure in his position, he holds her glare, taking its heat and countering it with the coldness of frosted steel.

“ _You_ will be the end of us,” she says, slipping by him, hatred lodged in her eyes.

“Enter, Byakuya,” calls his grandfather, voice bled of any warmth or feeling.

Without hesitation, Byakuya moves into the room, keeping his tread light and silent, and he takes a seat in front of Grandfather’s desk. Byakuya’s back is straight, despite the burning tapestry of over-exerted muscles, and he squares his shoulders.

Grandfather greets him with a lifeless stare. Even the warm buttery glow of candlelight does nothing to soften it. “Byakuya,” he says, and, for a rare moment, he smirks, “I take it you’re not too upset about the banquet?”

Byakuya represses a grin. “Heartbroken.”

A knowing gleam radiates from Grandfather’s eyes. “Well done. A concerted effort by the three of you, I’m sure.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Lord Heishi informed me of the ruse prior to the banquet. He said Suiko was in tears, waxing poetic, no doubt, about the prospect of being made to feel like a third in her own marriage. When Lord Heishi revealed that Hisana rejected the offer of concubinage, Suiko refused to continue with the betrothal outright. He was resolute in his decision to spare his daughter from an unhappy fate, and I saw no reason to oppose it.”

“You left after the spectacle,” says Byakuya, struggling to make sense of it all. Byakuya had been certain that Grandfather stormed out of the event in a fit of anger.

“The banquet was in celebration of your betrothal. There was no betrothal after Suiko’s dramatic announcement,” says Grandfather, reaching into his desk to withdraw a few documents, “and I had other matters to which to attend.” 

Grandfather then slides the documents over to Byakuya, “The family will allow you to take Hisana as your wife if she consents.”

Byakuya gapes, unblinkingly, at his grandfather. A heady chemical cocktail floods him, nearly blinding him on impact, and his whole body goes quiet. It’s a pleasant sort of quiet, edging on peaceful. When he thinks to glance down, he sees the family had voted on whether or not to allow the variance. Names are split into two columns.

“Hisana has garnered a few admirers among our family and branch families, and, after the ordeal with the Heishi, I believe many of the elders wished to spare us a repeat performance,” Grandfather continues. He then taps his finger to the left column, “Mind these names well, Byakuya, for they are the members who opposed the union. I do not think their objections or machinations will cease at marriage.”

“What changed?” asks Byakuya, gaze flitting to Grandfather. Byakuya scrutinizes every line, every wrinkle, every glint of light, and every shadow on his grandfather’s face for an answer.

Grandfather clasps his arms in front of his chest. The sleeves of his dark blue kimono meet and obscure his hands. Carefully, Grandfather studies Byakuya for a long moment. “Lord Heishi had drummed up several compelling arguments on behalf of his daughter, all of which could’ve applied to you. It’s also clear to me that you care deeply for the bond you have with Hisana, and that bond, I believe, is a fortifying one. Lastly, there is the simple fact that Hisana has time and again proved herself capable of temperance, tolerance, and prudence, qualities that become rarer by the day.”

Byakuya sits dumbfounded. Here, he had expected a fight. A clash of the wills. _Something_ _far worse_. 

“Are you having second-thoughts, Byakuya?” asks Grandfather with a raised brow.

Byakuya shakes his head emphatically. “Not at all.” 

Perhaps Grandfather has never witnessed him at ease, mind content, but focused, and his rancorous feelings completely conquered.

“Good.” Grandfather opens another drawer and removes two more bundles. 

On his right are what appear to be papers, and on his left are a stack of envelopes. Grandfather begins with the envelopes, handing them to Byakuya. “Your letters, surely, to Hisana. The steward informed me that he had learned of several intercepted missives from one of Masuyo’s handmaidens, and he brought my attention to the matter.”

Byakuya glances down and flips through the missives. Indeed, these are the letters that he wrote during the period that Hisana had been in service to the Chambers. Nearly thirty letters. All opened. All read. Evidence that his privacy had been violated on at least thirty separate occasions collected neatly in his hands. 

He hopes that his more _explicit_ letters brought some nosy attendant great unease. 

“I had no idea that Masuyo had made the order for your mail to be reviewed and withheld. I commanded her to cease all such further activity. I have also instructed the steward to meet with the staff tomorrow afternoon to apprise them of a new protocol to follow with respect to the mail. Hopefully, this will put a stop to the interceptions from tomorrow on.” 

Grandfather’s hands next move to the papers on his right, pushing them forward for Byakuya’s review. “The revised marriage documents for you and Hisana. I’ve left the date blank for the time being.”

“Why is that, Grandfather?”

The corner of Grandfather’s mouth draws up slightly. “You will still require Hisana’s consent. Consent that I doubt she will give easily.”

“I will wait for it,” says Byakuya.

He will wait for her until the end of time if necessary.

* * *

Hisana is so close to freedom. The thought itself— _freedom_ —sticks her breath. The impossibility of it, and, yet, it’s brushing against her fingertips, ready for the taking. 

_Not yet_ , she reminds herself. 

She has one last obligation. One last client to serve. Her blood curdles as she stares through the open door into the little green space behind the teahouse.

Bracing her shoulder against the wooden edge of the frame, she watches the burnt yellow leaves of a large cedar tremble against the breeze that blows into the room. A few of the leaves scatter, carrying on the wind, and she watches their flight until they disappear behind a gray wooden shanty meant to house supplies for the winter months. 

_Tadahiro_.

Hisana imagines the worst. Her flesh is already preparing to weather the crackle of violence, to go limp against the pressure of fingers twisting into her skin, of the beating of brutal words, of the crush of his presence boring into her. 

These sorts of preparations, Hisana finds, are usually futile.

She never seems able to anticipate the sorts of treachery her patrons capable of when spurned.

But, she waits. Quietly. Patiently. Fearfully. She waits.

Until she hears a stirring at the door. And even then, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t break. She waits.

“Hisana.” Her name enters the room quietly, a whispered breath. 

At first, Hisana can’t place the voice, its tenor too mild, too plaintive. But, there is a recognizable note that tugs at her. 

She glances sidelong to the door and can hardly believe her eyes when she sees only Tadahiro lingering at the threshold to the room. He looks almost sheepish as if he has misplaced his bravado and could only find cold resignation as a replacement. 

“Lord Konoe,” she greets. 

Turning to face him, Hisana bows. 

A gust of wind rushes into the room, setting her silks aflutter and pulling her loose tresses along its current. It’s hard to glimpse him through the veil of hair, but, once the wind settles, she can see the lord stands wan with eyes searching the floor.

Drawing her red silks close to her skin for comfort, Hisana takes a few long paces toward him.

Tadahiro stops her with a shake of the head and a word. “No.”

With that word, the lord seemingly erects a barrier between them. 

It certainly feels like Hisana has hit a wall when the word reaches her. It’s a stinging strike. Locked in place, she blinks. “Milord?” she says, a question etching into her face.

Tadahiro shakes his head again. “I came here to say goodbye.”

Hisana lowers her head. 

“No,” Tadahiro begins again, “I came here to take you for myself. I learned of the dissolution of Byakuya’s betrothal, and I knew that I had to act quickly. When I was informed that your contract had been satisfied, I had assumed it was at the Kuchiki’s hand. I was prepared to start a bidding war over it, knowing that Byakuya’s status as heir would spell his defeat. He hasn’t the power to move swiftly enough; he would have to wait for committee approval, and by then he would have lost you to me.” Tadahiro pauses. His eyes find hers, and she watches them catch flame.

The stare is a possessive one, roaming her like she is his, like she has always been his, like he thinks she always will be his. 

And, for the first time, Hisana wonders if she has read Tadahiro all wrong. Maybe she has never been his clever fox. Maybe he has always considered her an entitlement. Entitled to her thoughts. Entitled to her counsel. Entitled to her bed. As long as the illusion that she was his held firm, he was content with keeping her as his courtesan.

Only when his position was challenged did he move to take. Prudently, at first. But, the plan he just confessed to her would’ve been reckless.

Shaken, Hisana stands. Wordless. Unmoving. Unyielding. She waits for him to continue, herself unable to summon a single thought to break the mounting tension.

“I know you have feelings for Byakuya. Feelings that run deeper than the ones that you have for me. But, I knew with time I would bind you to me. That I could convince you to forget him.” 

His gaze drifts from her. A muscle jumps in his jaw, and his eyes darken like the midnight skies. “When I saw it was you who had satisfied your debts, I was astounded.” Again, Tadahiro studies her, gaze deepening as if he hopes to unravel her with a look.

Inured, Hisana remains motionless. 

Stuffing his hands into the sleeves of his dark gray kimono, Tadahiro continues, “I knew if I took you from yourself that I would never have a hope of having you. All of you. Our connection would be forever poisoned.”

Hisana stares at him pensively. 

Didn’t he already know? His love for her has always been poison. At times, she sipped at it, calling it sweet. Other times it burned or spoiled or went down like bitter medicine. No matter the method of administration, however, poison is poison. It kills slowly. 

It boils. It burns. It turns blood to acid. 

And, Hisana knows she hasn’t much more blood left to lose.

“I just want to know how you managed this feat,” he asks.

Hisana’s chin tucks down close to her neck. The answer elicits a percussive wave of self-loathing at the knowledge that she could only manage this feat by taking advantage of his prideful charity. She could never have pulled herself out of this quagmire by her own strength alone.

“Lord Konoe,” she says his name like a plea as she crosses the floor. 

Part of Hisana—a horrible traitorous part of her—wants her to hand herself over to him. The pain he gives her feels like punishment, and, in her dark hours, punishment starts to feel a whole lot like atonement. It is a false sort atonement, impotent in its passivity. But, she can’t help the inclination when it grabs her up.

Hisana stops an arm’s length from him. 

She can tell her nearness proves tempting. Tadahiro takes a step, closing the distance between them. He reaches out and cups a side of her face, forcing her eyes to him. His thumb strokes a circle against her jaw. 

Closing her eyes, Hisana inhales a deep breath before confessing. “Your kimono,” she says, “were the greatest gifts anyone has ever given to me.”

His hand drops to her neck, and she can feel the urge in him—the way the muscles in his palm and fingers tense—to close his hand over her throat. But, Hisana stays the violence that crackles in his flesh with a soft wide-eyed glance. “I owe your generosity a great debt.”

Tadahiro jerks his chin up at the solemnity of her admission. His lips part, as if he is going to say something, but he stops the moment she steps into his arms and rests her head against his chest.

This appears to pacify him completely, Hisana thinks. Tadahiro’s arms fall loosely around her. The beat of his heart steadies, and the tension between them goes slack. 

“Indeed, you owe me a great debt,” he says, lips brushing against the top of her head.

Hisana does not wince at his words. She expects them. She invited them, after all.

He curls a finger under her chin and nudges her head up. His eyes linger on her lips, and he dips his head down. Stopping short of a kiss, he says, “I won’t ask for your freedom or your body as payment, but, if I may request your thoughts on occasion. They have become dear friends to me, and I would be at a great loss to lose your correspondence completely. Especially on my long travels.” 

“Of course, milord.” Relief eases her nerves at his mild request. “Once I settle, I will write to you.”

Tadahiro lifts his head just enough to press a kiss against her forehead. “Remember Hisana, you will always have a place at my side or in my bed.” He then pulls away, leaving her with a solemn farewell. 

Hisana watches him leave, eyes trained on the dark space of the door. With the last of her obligations as a courtesan discharged, she feels a strange absence penetrate her. She stands in place for a long while, thoughts mulling over the things that she has done in this room and rooms like it. 

Shunsho fetches her after what feels like an eternity has passed, and he escorts her back to the Peony House, where she is greeted by both Yua and Okuni. Together, they set out on the chore of packing up her belongings. 

What passes during this time, Hisana can hardly remember.

All she can remember is the surrealness of it all. There is a strangeness—almost a perverseness—to cataloging her items. Few of her possessions actually belong to her. The House is quick to claim all but the few kimono that Hisana has purchased for herself, most of which are simple robes, most fashioned from cotton or hemp. Other than the kimono, Hisana is allowed the items given to her from her debut, which consists of her makeup kit, vanity, koto, a few boardgames, tea set, and her bedding. 

The latter of which she asks Okuni to burn.

“What?” Okuni gasps, eyes large, the hollows of her neck deepening. “They’re beautiful!”

Indeed, the silks are extraordinary, having been purchased for her by the Kuchiki. But, trapped in the threads of those beautiful layers are a sea of memories. Some of Hisana’s most horrific memories. To bring them with her into a new life would be akin to tarnishing her future with the ghosts of a troublesome past.

“Okay,” Okuni relents after a long moment, and, with a frown, she agrees to the idea. “Tojuro and I will make a splendid bonfire in your honor and burn them.” 

Yua and Shunsho watch Hisana with looks of disquiet when Yua says, “Mistress requests your presence in the courtyard.”

Hisana nods, heart going cold at the prospect of what is to happen next. She knows it is custom. A barbaric custom. Yet, what custom hasn’t been barbaric in the Pleasure Quarters?

Wordless, she descends the creaky wooden stairs to the first floor. The realization that this may be her last time trudging down the stairs hits hard and fast, knocking the air from her lungs. It’s such a strange thought. The Peony House and her rooms have occupied such a large part of her life. She has spent nearly a century running through the streets of this district. To think that when she steps through the large red gates this place will all become a memory is inconceivable.

Shunsho opens the door to the courtyard for Hisana, and she crosses into the crisp autumn air. There is a bite in the wind, one that tears through her red silks, as she makes her way to the large weeping sakura that edges the courtyard.

Mistress along with one of the House’s serving boys, Sora, stand under the heavy boughs of the tree. Grasped tightly between Sora’s hand is a sheathed tantō.

Shunsho places a comforting hand against Hisana’s shoulder. “I can—” he begins, clearly reading her hesitation.

“No,” says Mistress, and she gives a dismissive wave of her hand, “Only someone currently employed at the House may perform this duty.”

Shunsho’s eyes widen, and he glances down at Hisana. She sees the fear begin to crowd him at the implication that his employment has been terminated.

“I purchased both your and Yua’s contracts,” Hisana says softly. “I’ve meaning to tell you. It just slipped my mind,” she murmurs, eyes wandering to the dark blue covering of Sora’s tantō. 

Shunsho turns to Yua who stands a pace behind them both. “Miss Hisana,” he starts.

Before he can continue, Mistress cuts him off with a heavy sigh. “It’s already done, Shunsho. Nothing you can do about it. Hisana is intent on releasing my best employees in one go, it seems.”

Hisana turns to both of her attendants and forces a kind smile. “I have some money set aside for you both. Or, if you wish, you may continue to serve me.”

Both look ready to cry when the weight of her words settles over them.

“ _Enough_ ,” Mistress growls, yanking Hisana to Sora with a cruel hand. “Kneel, girl.” Mistress nudges her knee into the back of Hisana’s leg, forcing her down.

“Wait!” cries Yua. 

Before either Shunsho or Mistress can restrain her, the girl’s fingers are collecting the fall of Hisana’s hair in her hand. With a few twisting flicks of her wrist, Yua wraps Hisana’s hair in a tie, and steps away, teeth biting at her bottom lip with worry.

“Thank you,” says Hisana.

Sora steps to Hisana’s back. The _ting_ of metal being unleashed rings in her ears, and she braces against the roughness of the boy’s hands against the gather of her hair. 

With sharp yanking motions, he saws through her dark tresses, just above the tie. Fingers of electric pain snap at her scalp, and, by the time he has done the deed, her whole head throbs.

“Your past,” Mistress says, handing Hisana her shorn ponytail. 

“Send it to Lord Konoe,” says Hisana, “he can keep my past.”

“And your future?” asks a familiar voice.

Hisana wheels around to find Lord Byakuya standing a few yards away. She can hardly believe her eyes, and, desperately, she wants to run to his side, but there is something in his mien that stops her.

“You’re early,” she says, studying the lines creasing his forehead.

Sorrow. Lord Byakuya Kuchiki watches her with an expression of sorrow. It startles her.

“Are you planning to run away?” he asks, voice low, hesitant. 

That question sinks Hisana, unleashing a wave of raw emotion. Hammered down, she grasps at words, words that refuse her. Helplessly, she stares at him. All breath splutter from her mouth.

“Did the lord not receive Hisana’s invitation?” offers Okuni, incredulous.

Lord Byakuya turns to Okuni. Hisana can’t see his face, but she knows his silence begs at the thread of a question. 

Okuni quickly expounds on her previous question, “Her invitation to tea.”

Lord Byakuya glances askance at Hisana. 

Hisana nods. Her lips part, but the words that come leave a bad taste in her mouth. Blaming his family’s interference is an easy escape. It’s simple and clean. Technically true. But, still not enough. 

Instead, Hisana goes to Lord Byakuya, wearing the weight of his stare proudly. When she stops in front of him, their bodies are close, only a sliver of daylight between them. Hisana takes his hand in both of hers, and the melancholia darkening his eyes eases at her touch.

It’s time to confess, Hisana thinks, and lifting her chest, she summons the courage that she requires. “I thought about it,” she begins, “I did. But, I couldn’t. With the help of some very wise friends, I realized running away from those I care for most deeply was becoming a pattern. A pattern that I needed to break. So, Okuni drafted the invitation to tea, and we sent it via the Saruwakaza Theater’s courier in an attempt to bypass the censors.”

Their efforts had been in vain. The Kuchiki elders must be reviewing their young lord’s correspondence in minute detail before filtering it through to him. 

Hisana tucks a stray lock behind Byakuya’s ear and tenderly cups his cheek in her hand. Maybe she could’ve done more, but she doesn’t know what that _more_ would’ve been. His family seemed keen on keeping them apart, and, without the luxury of letters, how would they ever connect? She couldn’t simply waltz into the Seireitei and knock on the door of Kuchiki manor. 

“Where will you go?” asks Byakuya, placing his hand on top of hers.

“I procured a small cabin, which I hope to share with a few friends,” she says, eyes trailing to both Shunsho and Yua, who stand a short distance away. 

Both of them appear to be _trying very hard_ to appear disinterested in their mistress’s conversation. Both failing miserably in their attempt when they jitter at her mention of them. Their hopeful looks, however, convince Hisana that their acceptance of her offer of staying with her is imminent. 

“I plan on spending my days searching for my sister, however,” whispers Hisana, drawing closer to Lord Byakuya, hoping the proximity will trap the words between them. 

His eyes brighten, and he shifts against her. The silks of his shihakusho caress the hand that she keeps at her side. “I can—” he begins, but Hisana cuts him off with a warning glance.

“My lord is sweet, but I will not be satisfied until I, personally, have set this wrong to rights.”

A crease forms between his brows, and she can tell that he wants to steal this burden from her, but he relents. Understanding, or something like it, sets his face still. 

“You will go into the heart of Inuzuri and search yourself?” he asks.

“Yes, milord.”

“Then you will require protection. Someone who is very skillful and strong to ensure no harm ever comes to you.”

Hisana smiles, heart warmed at both his concern and his transparent offer of strength. She plays along. “Of course, milord, and I think I’ve found just the man for the job, too.”

Lord Byakuya’s eyes flicker, and he tilts his head into the press of her palm. “You have?”

“Oh, yes. His keen mind is second only to his immense strength and dogged resolve. All of which are nearly eclipsed by his very handsome face.” Hisana pauses long enough to relish the small victory of bringing a blush to Lord Byakuya’s face.

“However,” she continues with a wry glance, “this man can be very prideful, is prone to spells of recklessness, and his moments of careless indifference could stop your breath.”

Byakuya watches her like she is the last light in the dark. 

“And, yet, despite these things,” Hisana says, pressing closer, head tilted just enough for her to feel the ragged kiss of her short locks against her neck, “I could not imagine a day without seeing his face. I respect him and care for him most ardently. He stands peerless in my heart.”

“Hisana,” he says softly, eyes gentle and kind, when he lowers his head to hers.

She holds his face in both her hands and presses her forehead against his. “Thank you, Lord Byakuya. Thank you for buying my contract.” Her voice cracks, and tears prick her eyes.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t—”

Before he can reach for a lie, Hisana stops him. “Your intent is sweet, milord, but I know.”

Lord Byakuya’s brows furrow. “There are no conditions, Hisana. No expectations. Nothing, I—"

“Just kiss her already!” cries Okuni at their back. 

The words go silent on Byakuya’s lips. His eyes drink her in, but he does not close the distance. Instead, he waits, gaze making a wordless request for permission to proceed. 

Happily, Hisana lifts her chin, stopping just short of a kiss, and she closes her eyes. Waiting. Hoping. Blood pounding in her ears. 

Lord Byakuya does not disappoint. His arms pull her close. The length of his body presses against her. She can feel his strength, the strong beat of his heart, and the tenderness of his lips.

Lord Byakuya kisses his lady, and he kisses her well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the final wrap up:
> 
> 1\. As always: THANK YOU FOR TAKING THIS SIDE QUEST WITH ME. It was long. It was hard. Hopefully it paid off. (Like hopefully at least a little.)
> 
> 2\. Good lord, Aizen. I had initially planned not to write this scene. Then, I waffled. And, well, here it is. It took forever. I really wanted his awfulness to simmer before coming to full boil, with poor Hisana shaken and confused at the end. I don’t think she realizes exactly where the train derailed (but it’s Aizen so do we ever anticipate the derailment?). While she wasn’t wrong about her initial assessment of him (that he wanted to exert power over her in retaliation for the thwarted legislative measure), she wound up convincing herself that she was being paranoid, and then, she did not anticipate his narcissistic rage at her (two) rejections. Rejections made doubly bad as they came in defiance of protocol (yikes). It’s a little upsetting just because it’s a rare moment where Hisana is taking some agency over her sexuality while in service at the House, and it goes very poorly. To be clear, the sexual power play is only about exerting power on his part. It has nothing to do with lust, or limerence, or literally anything remotely approaching healthy.
> 
> 3\. Suiko got away intact (and maybe she gets a Kuchiki in the end…. Masao, anybody?). I liked the symmetry of Byakuya’s bad behavior being visited on him. Suiko’s public rejection of him, however, isn’t quite as bad as what he did to Lady Niwa because he’s consenting to it (among other things), but The People don’t know that, and, at least Hisana’s friends take a lot of amusement from it.
> 
> 4\. Tadahiro has a moment of not being The Absolute Worst, which I thought was fitting since he and Hisana have a *mostly* professional working relationship as nobles in the current-day timeline. (Yes, he’s still very much a Little Finger to her Catelyn Stark, which is creepy, but he isn’t the anguished spurned ex.)
> 
> 5\. Moving forward, I have started on the next chapter in the current timeline. I will probably go back and make some superficial edits to the Way-Back-Years-Ago chapters just because I’ve been reviewing them trying to figure out where I thought I was going all those years ago. I also plan to rearrange the parts of the series so the parts flow better together and aren’t split as they currently are. Hopefully, I will have the next chapter done in a week.


End file.
